


Can tomorrow wait?

by I_had_to_be_sure



Category: Fate: The Winx Saga (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29667033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_had_to_be_sure/pseuds/I_had_to_be_sure
Summary: Episode 3, and the events that lead to Farah being in the right place at the right time.
Relationships: Farah Dowling & Ben Harvey & Saul Silva, Farah Dowling/Saul Silva, Saul Silva & Sky
Comments: 12
Kudos: 97





	Can tomorrow wait?

**Author's Note:**

> This started when I rewatched the episode and realised no one tells Farah they've gone to find the Burned One, and then I wanted to explore the rest of the scenes with more time for people to breathe and react and care, so here we are!
> 
> I own nothing, and there are many lines taken directly from the episode. I still have not watched Winx Club :/ Can be read in connection with ‘What happens now?’ but both stand alone. Hope you enjoy!  
> Find me on my tumblr @I-had-to-be-sure if you want to chat :)

“We should be out there with them,” she says, and he knows exactly how she feels. His battalion, tracking something they don’t understand, and for what? For _him_?

Farah fidgets beside him, eager to face the Burned One herself. After all, they’re the only people who have, the only ones trained explicitly for encounters such as these.

Saul never expected this. To live long enough to become the expert on the monsters that terrified him, only to be unable to help when it was needed.

He deflects with humour, sinking back into his seat. Even that’s difficult, and soft hands catch around his side and shoulder, helping him balance.

He looks at her, really looks, seeing how her eyes water and lip quivers. Fear is an emotion they are more than familiar with, but it’s been a long time since they had to fear for each other.

Ben approaches with glasses and alcohol and fortifying words, intent on combatting Farah’s stress with his perpetually calm presence.

But, faced with watching the man she loves die a slow and painful death, it’s no wonder she’s struggling to relax.

Sitting around the table like this, whiskey in hand and his best friends at his side, he almost feels decades younger. Music booms from the East Wing, teenage revelry quickly growing out of hand, as it has done every year since they were students themselves.

_Of course, we were usually more subtle,_ Saul thinks, kidding himself into believing the old lie.

If it weren’t for the poison slowly replacing his blood, he might even want to dance. Eyeing up the pretty girl next to him, he wonders if she’d accept.

They descend into humour, an age-old escape from the horrors of battle, as he tries not to think of this as his last drink.

But they just keep coming, the alcoholic burn imperceptible against the fire already coursing through his body, and the hours start to pass smoothly.

He starts thinking about how he’d like to end this night; whether to stay here at the back of the courtyard, or slip away to some quiet corner where the others don’t have to watch his eyes turn red.

Then his phone rings, Marco’s face flashing up from the screen.

He swipes right, then hovers, debating putting it on speaker before picking it up with an unsteady hand.

“Marco?”

Farah and Ben can only watch as he listens, and he can feel their magic pulsing in the air, restrained only by decades of control. 

After a few seconds, he nods. Coughs. Blinks rapidly and says:

“Yes. Thank you.”

Then he hangs up. The phone clatters when he drops it to the table, avoiding the anxious stares of his family.

“They killed the Burned One.”

He sees the faces around him, recognises the horror all too well, for he thinks it must be written over every inch of him.

The Burned One is dead, but there’s been no change. The infection hasn’t even _started_ to recede.

They got it wrong.

And now he’s a dead man walking.

Farah is rigid beside him, while Ben seems to sag against the table, already reaching for the bottle.

They can't look at each other, unwilling to see their own anguish staring back.

He wonders where Sky is. The last he saw of him was at the greenhouse.

Fumbling to turn over his phone, he sends a text. Saul wonders if he’ll even answer, remembering how terribly their last conversation had gone…

+++

Sky crept through the doors, surreptitiously checking they were alone. Ben was long gone, but Saul had stayed, taking the time to collect himself and find a reserve of strength for afternoon classes.

Farah was rigidly against the idea, had argued he should rest until he was better. It was the first time in a long time that he’d managed to glare her down, her guilt over the attack tainting their every conversation.

When he catches sight of his mentor, Sky pales.

“How bad it is?”

Saul knows he looks like shit. He _feels_ worse, weaker, exhausted and struggling to breathe, shirt sticking to his back with grey blood. The Zanbaq helps, but even its effectiveness has lessened.

He hesitates to answer, not wanting to confirm the inevitable reality.

“Is Professor Harvey going to up your dose of Zanbaq?” Sky pushes. “He said it would keep the wounds at bay, until-”

“-Until it can't anymore?” Silva interrupts, silencing the worried teen for a moment.

His boy, so full of questions he doesn’t really want the answers to, trying so hard to be the man he thinks he should be. Saul just wishes he could see the free-spirited boy again, who ran through the halls of Alfea without a care.

In the quiet, he struggles to stand, groaning and using the table for balance. 

“Okay, I can run the first-year spars, you can take it easy until the battalion gets to the Burned One.” He pauses for breath, his eagerness to help palpable.

Saul wonders how much time he’s been spending with Farah. Were they joining forces behind his back? Because their plans for managing his recovery sound awfully similar.

“What’s the status?”

Sitting down again, he debates, for a moment, whether he should answer. Sky deserves answers, but there’s a burden that comes with knowledge. Especially when it involves the life of the person you’re closest to in the world. Saul knows that well enough.

He does his best. Sky needs to face the truth.

“They’ve tracked it 40 kilometres north of here,” he pants. “They’ll engage it soon.”

“And when they do, are they going to-”

“-I have every confidence they will complete the mission; they will kill it.”

He pauses.

“The only question is when.”

“What do you mean?”

“The, uh… infection is spreading quickly now.” He breathes. “When it reaches my heart…” Maybe he shouldn’t-

“How long do you have?”

“I don’t know.” He closes his eyes, shakes his head, but there’s no avoiding it now. “I don’t know. Not long.”

“So, what do we do?” Sky says, voice raised and frantic.

He stands and moves closer, struggling to keep his professional demeanour intact.

“Well I’ve… spoken to my seconds about the plans for your training”- he wants to make the transition as easy as possible -“and Dowling is aware of my wishes for your future.”

He can't look at him. He doesn’t need to be an empath to feel the fear, the desperation. Hell, most of it’s probably his anyway. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“I asked you a question.”

“And I am answering it, Sky.”

Damn professionalism. This is his boy.

“Soldiers have to have these conversations with the people that matter,” he says with a shaky breath, staring him in the eye. “We make a plan. _That’s_ what we can do.”

It’s a lesson every soldier has to learn someday. How to say goodbye. He just wishes he were older. Stronger.

“There has to be something else.” He pauses, breathes, and Saul knows whatever’s coming is about to wrench his heart out. “I already lost one father. I can't lose another-”

“-I will keep you updated on the battalion’s progress.” He can't do this. Not now. Not ever. “Do you understand?” _I’m not your father, Sky, however much you want me to be. I_ killed _your father._

The kid nods a mumbled agreement, and leaves Saul breathing unevenly behind him.

+++

Now, he sits and waits for an answer.

He knows Sky must be at the party tonight, as he has been every year since his first, and the time before that, which he is still convinced Saul doesn’t know about.

His phone will be close on hand, waiting feverishly for any news. Good or bad.

He tells himself he can handle the anger, from a boy who is losing everything in one night. He's been that boy, pulled this trigger once before.

Glancing at the grieving faces of his friends, he doesn’t know how to say goodbye.

How does he tell the woman he loves that this may be their last night together, but that she’s the reason any of the previous nights have mattered? How perfectly she will continue but he’s so sorry she must do it without his support?

How does he explain to the man beside him all the ways in which he’s grateful to have known his friendship? His utter and complete care that’s saved them all so many times.

He can't face it, not yet.

They know what’s coming, they know how to prepare.

Sky doesn’t. He deserves as much time as he can give him to come to terms with the inevitable.

He makes a choice, and he runs, runs from the pain in their eyes and the love they’ll have to bury.

“I have to tell Sky,” he mutters, limping out before they can find the words to stop him.

For a moment, there’s complete silence.

Neither fairy knows what to say, if there even is anything to say. He’s dying. Oh god, he’s going to _die_.

Another drink follows, and another.

Ben stays slumped over the table, drawn and pale. He pulls his glasses off, rubs a hand down his face and sighs, weighed down with guilt that he couldn’t do more. It might nearly be as heavy as her own.

She got it wrong. By bringing it back here, by leaving it alive, she’s caused this. Her hand shakes as she pours more whiskey.

More than ever, she needs to know what he’s thinking, how he truly feels, but the pain radiating from him is too much, especially for her.

Before, when she looked at him, he used to shine, a bright blue glow that never failed to settle her nerves. She used to think it strange, that a man of such intense action could radiate such calm. But soon it became the only colour she looked for.

Now, there’s only a malignant grey seeping into the air around him, a barrier keeping her from him.

She wants to chase after him, shake him until he says _something_ that sounds vaguely like a fight. Like the Saul she knows and loves and can't bear to lose.

Instead, they give him time to attend to Sky. And she starts to plan.

+++

He waits on the training platform, surrounded by water and trees and so much calm that it’s easy to forget he’s dying.

Looking down at his phone, he reads their texts again, sensing the apprehension in the short messages.

  * Burned One dead. 
    * R u ok?
  * Meet me on the field. 
    * Everything k?
  * Read 8:58pm 
    * Silva?



Soft steps forewarn him of someone approaching, his hearing sharp because of the transformation – yet another reminder of what he’s becoming.

He glances up in time to see Sky hide his worry under a blithe façade.

“How do you feel?” he asks, pushing himself up onto the platform, light, carefree, and, most likely, drunk.

But it still doesn’t take him long to notice the grey veins trailing across his mentor’s face, eyes shot through with black and electric blue. When Saul stays silent, avoiding his gaze, all unspoken questions are answered.

“You said they killed it.”

He doesn’t know how to tell him, how to break it to Sky that he’s going to be left all alone.

“They did.”

“Then _why_ are your wounds not healed?”

“The one they killed mustn’t have been the one that attacked me.”

“Clearly, there are more than one of the creatures out there.”

Even to his own ears, he sounds resigned.

“So, so the battalion will keep looking-”

“It’s too _late_ , Sky.” He needs to be firm with him now, needs him to understand the reality settling before them.

But he just grows angry.

“You told me to wait.”

“It’s all there was to do,” he whispers, voice starting to break under the strain of abandoning the boy in front of him.

“And the one thing you always told me about my father was that he died fighting.”- he misses how Saul winces at the mention –“And now you're just going to lie here and take it?!”

_Yes_ , he thinks. _I want to spend my last hours with the people I love._

“Fuck that.” He jumps off the ledge, storming off over the grass, without even a backwards glance.

“Sky-” he sighs.

“Fuck that!”

He breaks into a run.

+++

He doesn’t know how long he sits on the stage after Sky leaves him. It’s cold, damp, and his bones ache, the Burned Ones infection and old wounds battling to see which can make him surrender first.

He refuses.

Chin pressed to his knees, he thinks only minutes can have passed when Farah finds him, curled into a ball.

“Please, come inside.”

Her voice is soft. Sad. Defeated. Everything he has never known Farah Dowling to be, should never be. It’s for that reason that he reaches a hand out, letting her pull him to his feet.

Barely stumbling, her arms are ready to catch him, holding him steady against her.

“Farah-” he starts.

“Shh. Just come inside. We’ll handle everything else later.”

He nods into her neck and, together, they make their way towards where Ben waits for them.

They lead him back into the courtyard, sitting at a table strewn with maps that don’t mean anything anymore.

He's just happy no one got hurt, pursuing a monster that thrives in the dark, when they could, and should, have waited for daylight.

No one speaks.

Ben pours another round.

“Well then,” Saul starts, not sure how to tell his best friend and the love of his life that he’s sorry, but it’s time for them to kill him, and would they please tell the son of the man he murdered to be strong, not to take unnecessary risks, and please remember that he is worth the world to the people that matter.

He figures he’ll start with his ‘I love you’s’ first and takes a breath.

“No,” Farah says, gaze hardening on his pale face. “ _No_ , Saul. I won’t let this happen. I won’t sit back and watch you die.”

She stands up so forcefully her chair tips back, smacking into the wall and falling over as her eyes glow bright.

Ben flinches, sensing her power, but Saul has never feared her anger.

Reaching a hand out, her tries to cover hers, to dissuade her from ever putting herself in danger for _him_ , but she snatches it away and makes for the door.

_No, you can't, it’s not safe, not alone, please don’t-_

“Farah!”

Lunging out of his chair and round the table, he catches his hip on the corner.

She turns in time to see him fall, groaning and clutching his side, the action too much in his fragile state.

“Saul-”

Ben catches him before he hits the ground, their old friend cradling him close, arms wrapped around his waist.

“The infection is spreading,” he mutters, before, louder, “We need to get him to the greenhouse.”

Between the two of them, it’s almost disturbingly easy, Saul unresisting as they drag him along. The school is empty, everyone either in bed or at the Senior Specialists Party. There’s no one left to witness its’ founder stumbling, half-dead, through the halls.

As soon as the doors open, Ben moves for fresh Zanbaq, leaving Farah to lower their patient to the bench. He barely flinches at the hard wood, lying on his side as she lifts his head and summons a pillow from across the room.

This time, she can't stay.

Ben appears at her side, kneeling to wrench Saul’s shirt up and quickly dismantle grey bandages. The poison is spreading fast, up his neck, and curling around his torso. It’s almost reached his heart.

She catches a glimpse of cloudy eyes before he clamps them shut, pain wracking his body, as Ben smears fresh sap across the bloody gashes, then reaches for his clenched jaw. Glancing up at her, he silently asks for help.

“Saul?”

A faint groan answers her. 

“I need you to drink.”

He shakes his head, turning further into the bench. Stroking his hair back, she tries again, this time bracing a hand behind his neck and lifting slightly.

“Please,” she says, vial resting against his lips.

They open, just slightly, and she sighs as he manages to swallow, before sinking back to the wood. All three of them breathe a little easier, and she rises to go as Ben holds out a hand.

“Farah-“

He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. The truth is written all over his face, tears shining as they listen to the laboured breathing of their best friend.

“Just do what you can,” she orders, eyes roving one last time over the body of her Love. “It’s my job to fix this.”

And with that, she whisks out of the doors, heading for the barrier.

+++

She’s barely crossed the divide when she hears it.

The waterfall thunders behind her but her magic enhances the sounds of the forest until the snarling rasp of a Burned One is clear.

Relief rises momentarily. If it’s this close to the school, it must be the monster responsible for attacking the soldiers, for infecting Saul. Refusing to even consider that there might be a third creature, she follows the distinctive sound.

Her magic hovers at her fingertips, eyes glowing faintly, watching the shadows for any movement.

This is the reprieve she’s been praying for, their last-minute miracle.

_I can save him_ , she thinks, _and this will all be over again._

Then she hears a scream, and her heart stops.

“Close your eyes!” Stella shouts, and she breaks into a run.

There’s the roar of flame, a cry of “Aisha!” and she doesn’t think she’s going to make it in time.

Everything is quiet.

Her mind reaches out, scanning the trees ahead until she finds 6 shining, familiar signatures, clustered together around a vibrating mass of _grey_.

She breaks into the clearing just in time to see it lunge at Bloom.

Leaping up onto a rock for a clear shot, her powers stretch and twist, snatching the creature back and pulling tighter and tighter until they _snap,_ and the world burns bright.

“No, it wasn’t dead.”

Her students turn to her, the husk smoking gently behind them. Shock and awe are written plainly across young faces, though shrouded by fear.

“It is now.”

+++

Saul gasps on the bench and Ben is beside him in an instant.

Since Farah left, he’d been quiet, restless. There was anger in unfamiliar dark eyes, an anger that didn’t belong to a man like Saul, who always used his words before his fists.

And, for a while, he had managed to talk.

Nothing that made much sense, but words, nonetheless. Ramblings about anything and everything that came to mind. He spoke of their last days as soldiers, and their first as parents, of how privileged he’d felt to watch Sky grow into the best that Andreas had been. Shivering with fever, he regaled Ben with the tale of how he and Farah met at Alfea, forgetting that his friend had been present the entire time. But then, he wasn’t sure Saul even recognised him anymore.

Rose hadn’t, at the end.

Soon, he was too weak to do more than sleep his last hours away, his best friend keeping vigil.

But now, he’s coughing, writhing slightly on the bench, and Ben nearly cries when he notices the change.

Grey veins are receding down his neck, colour returning to his skin as his fists unclench, body unfurling and relaxing.

Starting to sit up, he opens his eyes.

They’re a clear blue.

“Saul!” he cries, throwing himself at his friend, and knocking them both off balance and flat onto the bench.

“Ben,” he laughs, strong and warm and free of any rasp. It’s the voice he remembers from years of late-night talks and orders thrown in battle, from decades of friendship and it is heaven-sent to hear it again.

For a minute, they allow themselves to bask in this victory before reality reasserts itself.

“Someone must have killed the Burned One,” Ben says, pulling back.

“Farah. Had to have been,” Saul whispers, brows furrowed.

The two men indulge in a moment of worried glances and unspoken fear, before commencing with the task of checking still open wounds for any sign of lingering infection.

They’ve barely started when the woman on both their minds bursts through the doors.

“Your boy is an _idiot_.”

+++

The walk home from the woods is a sober one.

Four cowed fairies, one redhead that won’t meet her gaze, a boy with a sword that’s practically bouncing on his toes, so eager is he to check on Silva, all herded by a seething headmistress, hardly make for a normal procession.

She knows Saul’s okay, the ache in her chest starting to ease, and denies her desire to run to him.

She uses the time to think. This last week has barely left her with time to breathe, let alone process what’s been happening. She’s been so intent on holding the school together and protecting her family, her own emotions had slipped away.

Ahead, Bloom stumbles over a root, alcohol lingering in her system, and thanks Aisha for her steadying hand.

Case in point.

After Saul had staggered away, Bloom had intercepted her. Drunk and badgering, she’d blurted unwelcome reminders of history best forgotten, and Farah had found herself offering the automatic, diplomatic responses.

“She’s dead, Bloom.”

The lie had passed her lips all too easily, used to ignoring the woman that festered beneath her school. She didn’t wish to give life to those years, however much they seemed to haunt every moment of the past weeks.

Losing her temper had been a mistake. She’d seen the flash of fear in her student, tasted it in the air.

But. besieged with memories of Rosalind, and the much darker time in which she existed, the steel returned all too easily.

She’d withdrawn before she could say anything else she’d regret. Following Ben, she found him around the corner, side-tracked by a gaggle of party goers struggling to find their dorm.

Needing to find her stability, they searched for Saul.

He was sitting under cold stars, eyes raised and Sky nowhere to be seen.

Looking at the teen now, she realises that’s where this hare-brained plan must have started. It surprises her, really, to think that Saul didn’t pre-empt this. So concerned with her own reckless behaviour, he hadn’t considered that Sky was every bit as rash as his caretakers. 

The real miracle is that Andreas’ son is still alive. How they’ve kept him that way all these years is a mystery. They should have known it would be too much to ask him to sit around and do nothing, waiting for the only father he could remember to die.

Tonight, was a close call. Although, seeing his blade tinged with char residue did admittedly stir her pride.

It took skill to impale a Burned One like that. Saul is right, he will be a fine soldier.

She’s thankful she managed to reach them in time, knowing they must have started their search a while before hers. Farah spares a moment to consider how exactly they even managed to find it. Burned Ones are notoriously good at hiding.

Eventually, they make it through the main doors, and she directs the girls to the courtyard. Words aren’t necessary. She knows they’ll wait there until she gives them leave, unwilling to incite any further anger.

Sky is another matter.

It hasn’t been long since the Burned One dies, ten minutes at most, but she doesn’t need to use her magic to sense his desperation. (One look at Musa is enough, her eyes wide and purple and silently pleading to get him away from her.)

Spinning on a heel, she motions for him to follow, heading for the greenhouse.

Concern starts to build, trepidation, at what they might find inside, digging nails into her palms.

The closer they get, the more Sky slows, dropping back when in sight of the doors.

“Wait here,” she says, and sees his shoulders relax.

She takes a step away, then stops. Turning back, she places a hand on his arm, gripping softly and catching his gaze.

“You did well tonight, Sky,” she murmurs, needing him to know now more than ever that he’s not alone.

Then she strides through the doors.

+++

“Your boy is an _idiot_ ,” she exclaims, breath nearly stolen from the sight before her.

He’s there, right there, sitting up under his own power, a far cry from how she left him. There’s colour in his cheeks, strength in his arms, and the most beautiful bright eyes are looking straight at her.

“Saul,” she sighs, striding to the bench and collapsing into open arms.

He holds her quietly, appreciating the chance to feel her chest rise, heart beating in time with his.

Only when her breathing grows steady does he pull back.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, dark eyes tracing his features.

“And Sky?”

At this, she focuses.

“He’s just like his father.”

Ben stills in the background, metal clattering against his desk.

“What happened?” Saul whispers.

It only takes a few moments to recount events, watching carefully as emotions play across his face. When he flinches, her mind reaches out, brushing against their familiar connection until he eases into her touch.

He's all blue again, warming the air around them with not even a dark stripe left, and her relief only enhances his own.

“But he’s okay?”

“He’s fine. Pacing a hole in the floor outside.”

Saul’s gaze flies to the door, and she reluctantly starts to detach herself.

Thanks to the miracle that was tonight, they’ll be time with him later.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some fairies to admonish.”

Pressing a kiss to (gloriously) warm skin, she takes her leave, promising to return as soon as they're dealt with.

+++

Ben takes the brief reprieve to check his bandages again, ensuring the deep cuts are healing normally, now free of infection.

Neither of them notices Sky appear in the open doorway and wait there, watching.

Saul winces as the gauze pulls at ragged edges of flesh, twisting over his shoulder to see. Its too far down though, so he just fixes to top of Ben’s head with a glare.

“All right?” he asks.

“Yes, yeah,” Ben mutters, intent on his work.

Nodding, Saul tries to relax. It doesn’t feel real yet. He’d been so close to death, felt it in his bones, his breath easing into a rasp as vision failed and the world went quiet.

And now… he’s not.

Movement catches his eye, and he shoots up from the bench, pulling his shirt down over his wounds.

“ _You_ are an _idiot_ ,” he exclaims, finger pointing for emphasis.

“I know-”

“A stupid, impulsive-”

“-I know-”

“-reckless-”

“-I know! But is it better-”

“-idiot!”

“But is it better?!”

Saul remains silent, fixing his ridiculous child with a glare.

“Professor Harvey?” he asks, turning to his uncle instead.

The traitor smiles indulgently.

“Don’t smile at him,” Saul complains, barely getting the words out before he finds himself pulled into a hug.

Ever mindful of his injuries, Sky wraps one arm around his right shoulder, the other across his back, and holds on tight.

Smiling, Saul returns the strong grip, eyes closed, and nose buried in a jumper that smells faintly of soot.

A quick squeeze and then they both let go, but only far enough for him to clasp a hand to Sky’s neck.

“Your dad would’ve been proud.” He makes sure to look him in the eye, meaning every word.

Sky grins, and he brings him in close, pressing their heads together.

They're both okay. That’s what matters.

“Good lad.”

Turning away, he misses the doubt that passes across Sky’s face.

Ben doesn’t.

After the teen leaves, he fixes his old friend with a stern glance.

“That boy idolises you, you know.”

“He shouldn’t,” comes a too quick response. Maybe the specialist isn’t as oblivious as he makes out to be.

“Saul-“

“Don’t, Ben. Please.”

+++

She slips into the room shortly after Sky has left.

The tension is still thick, overpowering to a mind fairy as astute as her. Asking is unnecessary, even feeling for their emotions seems redundant, when a decade-old argument has clearly arisen.

Quiet as she tries to stay, Saul still notices her, attuned to her presence as always. Ben carries on talking about the medical care still required, changing bandages regularly, keeping them clean and dry, yadda yadda, and leaves his back to the door, tending to his plants and oblivious to his friend’s matching smirks.

She sidles up behind him with silent steps.

“Ben?” she asks, then watches gleefully as he startles, yelping.

It’s not often she manages to surprise the earth fairy.

Hand pressed to his chest, he turns around and glares.

“Farah,” he snaps, meeting her innocent smile.

They both ignore Saul choke on his own giggle and start laughing a touch manically.

Soon, Ben’s lips begin to twitch, hearing the man beside them dissolve into hysterics, and soon they both join him.

It’s been a long day.

“We need to talk,” Farah coughs out when the laughter has eased, growing serious but still with a faint smile.

She looks around the greenhouse, at the glass walls and thin doors. “In slightly more secure quarters, preferably?”

First, Saul makes his excuses to change, and Ben leaves to check in with Terra, after the ordeal of tonight, and tell her the good news about her uncle.

They agree to meet in her office in half an hour.

+++

An hour later finds Saul tapping on her door, slinking in with his head bowed.

There’s no sign of Callum by his desk, the younger man likely headed home hours ago.

“And what time do you call this?” she asks, head still lowered over some marking, schoolmarm voice in full effect.

He mumbles something she doesn’t quite catch, sinking onto her sofa.

Looking up in time to see his eyes slip closed, she hazards a guess at his delay.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer, out of respect, she’s sure, and not because his breathing is fast growing into a gentle snore.

Chuckling, she goes back to her work, comforted by the familiar sound. After the complete nightmare he's been through, it’s hardly surprising he’s exhausted. 

She’ll wake him when Ben gets there.

+++

An hour after that, and she doesn’t need to bother, as Ben bursts through the door, absent his usual restraint.

Saul shoots up from his slump, scans the room for enemies, then, seeing only their friend, now pacing, groans at the crick in his neck and falls back into the cushions. There’s a lot of residual aches and pains that come from being mauled. She knows from experience.

“Ben?” he growls.

The pacing doesn’t pause.

“What happened?” Farah tries. “Is Terra alright?”

At that, Ben throws himself into one of the armchairs.

“I really hate teenagers,” he groans into his hands.

Exchanging a look with her specialist, she moves to perch beside the earth fairy.

“Tell us.”

+++

Eventually, they manage to move on to the emergent matters at hand now that Saul has had a nap and Ben has comforted his crying daughter.

The actual discussion is much shorter than the heavy silence that follows, each ruminating on the implications of Blooms’ memory.

It’s an unwelcome reminder of what lurks beneath their feet, of the memories that haunt their dreams and are beginning to seep into the day.

There are no conclusions to be made tonight (or this morning, as the clock reminds her, hands ticking past two). There’s nothing they can do with the scant information they hold.

Rosalind made sure to leave them squarely in the dark, as always _. This is where you thrive_ , she used to claim, but the truth soon became obvious. She just liked to watch them suffer.

Speaking of which, Farah makes a note to check on the older woman tomorrow. If she really did manage to broadcast a memory to Bloom, then her protections may need strengthening. Tonight, she simply doesn’t have the energy.

“Time for bed.”

Both men startle slightly, broken from their own quiet reflection, but meet her eyes steadily as she straightens from leaning against her desk.

“Are you sure?” Ben asks, words drawn out and gaze flickering towards the bookcase that shields the undercroft.

“Quite sure,” she says. “We all need our rest. Anything else will just have to wait its turn.”

When he still looks doubtful, she steps closer, bumping her shoulder into his.

“Any change, however small, will alert me even in the deepest of sleep,” she said with the confidence of someone who absolutely does not know how wrong they are. “Go to bed. That’s an order.”

He huffs a chuckle and moves to leave, but before he can get far, Saul claps a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you.”

The fairy looks at him in askance.

“Whatever for?”

“For looking after me all the way through,” he trails off. ”I know it can't have been easy, doing that again…”

Bowing his head, Ben doesn’t answer for a moment, undoubtedly thinking about all the times he’s sat at the bedside of someone he loved, trying vainly to cure them, only to fail.

Placing a hand over Saul’s, he meets his eyes.

“Anytime.” _Just don’t make me do it again._

He pulls him into a quick hug, then kisses Farah on the cheek and says goodnight.

“Be good, you two,” he mutters sleepily, ignoring their glares and wandering out the door.

It clicks shut behind him, leaving a tired, worried silence.

He turns to face her, brow creased with thousands of concerns about what tomorrow might bring, but she stops him before he can start, finger pressed to his lips.

“Tomorrow.”

Nodding, his hands find her waist, leaning in to press his forehead to hers.

“You have no idea how good that sounds,” he groans, wrapping her in a hug with strong arms.

She chuckles, clutching him closer.

“And what shall we do tonight?” he yawns in her ear.

“Sleep, Saul. Just sleep.”

Laughing ruefully, he presses a kiss to her hair, nuzzling the soft strands before detaching himself.

“Sounds perfect.”

She sets about packing up her office for the night as he stumbles out the door towards his rooms.

+++

Detouring on the way back to his quarters, he ends up outside, heading for the training fields. There’s no reason for it exactly, maybe an urge to reconnect with the familiar. Tomorrow, he’ll be able to lead class as he always has, up front and by example.

So, part of him wants to be sure he won’t stumble, and some time spent with a sword in his hand should do the trick.

Only, when he gets there the main platform is already occupied.

He hadn’t lied when he told Sky Andreas would have been proud. Stabbing a Burned One before he’d even graduated was a boast worthy feat, an all too common one during the war, though most didn’t live long enough to enjoy the acclaim.

In fact, Saul is the only one left.

Watching the teen now, working through his positions, slashing and cutting at unseen enemies, Saul knows he’s ready. For what, is still a mystery, but he’s sure Sky will take it in his stride and come out victorious.

Whether his heart, good and kind and whole, will be as lucky, remains to be seen.

He leaves before the boy can see him.

+++

This time, he doesn’t have to ask her to stay.

He steps into his rooms and finds her already wrapped up in his duvet, head nestled against his pillow.

“Hello,” she mumbles, watching through bleary eyes as he strips down and climbs in beside her, noticing she’s wearing his t-shirt again, despite having time to collect her own nightclothes.

“Hello there.”

“I was starting to wonder where you’d got to.”

He hums, sure she knew exactly where he was, their connection fully re-established and strong, but appreciating that she hasn’t asked why he feels so pensive.

When he doesn’t answer her unvoiced question, she simply smiles and moves towards him.

He welcomes warm arms wrapping around his waist, tucks his own around her shoulders and hooks her leg over his hip. There’s not an inch of space between them, and it’s perfect.

The position hurts his side, but his closeness brings a sleepy smile and it’s worth it. Hell, he’d let a fresh new Burned One scratch him if it made her smile. It wouldn’t, of course, and then she’d probably kill him herself, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

A sharp jab in his healthy side reminds him that sometimes he thinks too loudly.

“Then stop,” she mumbles into his chest, nuzzling into the gentle blue glow that swells to surround them both.

Laughing, he waits for what’s coming next.

“I was scared today, Saul. More scared than I’ve been in years.”

He can hear the waver in her voice, sense the terror that still lingers in her blood. There’s nothing he can do to assuage it, besides staying there beside her.

“I know, love. Me too.”

She grips him tighter, and he swears silent promises that he’ll stay for as long as she’ll have him.

It doesn’t take long to fall asleep, still exhausted and comforted by the woman he holds. Her breathing steadies his, and he slips into a dreamless peace.

Farah isn’t so lucky.

She came here tonight because she couldn’t bear to be anywhere else.

Being parted from him feels wrong.

She wonders whether, one of these days, she’ll finally make the leap and ask him to move in. Despite the years they’ve spent together, neither had ever pushed for more. It wasn’t feasible during the fighting, and then, afterward- well, he had Sky to care for and she… She needed time.

At least tonight, she has an outfit for tomorrow.

Asking Ben to collect her clothes, the morning after the Burned Ones attack, had been uncomfortable to say the least. The glint in his eye, undimmed by exhaustion, had promised he wouldn’t let her forget this favour.

So far, his ribbing has been tame, but she has no doubt that will change now that one of them isn’t dying.

Saul lets out a heavy breath, edged with a snore that ruffles her hair. His grip loosens slightly, rolling onto his back but dragging her with him so she’s draped half over his torso.

Grinning slightly into his neck, Farah soaks up his warmth and savours his familiar calm, aura turned navy in the dark room.

Here, in bed with the man she loves safe and well beside her, she can finally admit her own fear.

Bloom’s questions concern her, the revelation that it was _Rosalind_ who delivered her to the First World… doesn’t bear thinking about. She’ll have to, of course. But not tonight.

She wishes she could talk to him, work everything out together like they have done since they were teens, but she knows he needs to rest. They’ll be time tomorrow.

Tonight is a night to rest, after the hell they’ve been through in so short a time.

Although, it is validating to think 16 years have passed but her ability to kill Burned Ones seems only to have increased. She’ll have to try not to be too smug in front of the boys.

Seeing her students like that, gathered around the body of a Burned One, soot on young faces, breathing hard from the fight, she couldn’t help but see their own younger selves.

This is exactly the sort of risk they were stupidly brave enough to take, the type of foolhardy behaviour Rosalind had encouraged.

She’ll have to talk them out of it tomorrow.

But they're all alive. Saul’s alive. Everything has been worth it for this moment.

She burrows deeper into his hold, relishing the contact and closing her eyes.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be ready to face whatever horrors are still to come, but for now, she’ll gladly take this small chance to recover.


End file.
